Memory
by Kinberuri
Summary: A story about Brock, taking a look into his past.


DISCLAIMER: I do not own Brock, Pokemon, etc. I'm not making any dough off this story. No money either. The story however is property of moi and should not be posted anywhere without my permission (and I probably won't give permission because I'm restricting this story to FF.net and my Takeshi shrine)  
  
Rather old fic... From mid-2000 I think. All about Brock and my take on his (English) past. n_n I can't help it if I love the guy. Takeshi haters leave now! Heehee. I normally loathe using the English names but since I don't know enough about his Japanese past, I used the English one and the dub names. Feh. I'm posting this mostly because I'm bored and avoiding working on my Kensuke fic... n_n;; This is possibly the only G-rated/non-yaoi fic I will post here! Gasp! I feel weird not having to warn you about naughty things... Don't judge me by this fic, it's not a good example of my work. _;; Go read something naughty and then you'll get a good idea of me! n_n  
  
*  
  
  
Dusk was falling as Brock made his way through the forest. He was alone now; he, Ash and Misty had just set up camp for the night and their dinner was over the fire. Brock was taking the opportunity to wash up while it cooked. Moving downstream from the campsite, he walked along the edge of a small river that cut a path through the forest. Sure, he would have preferred a hot shower but when on the road for weeks at a time, one settles for what one can get even if that's a very cold stream. When he reached what he felt was a comfortable distance, Brock deposited his backpack at the base of a tree and pulled off his vest, tossing it near the backpack.  
  
Poised to pull off his shirt, the young man froze when he heard leaves rustle somewhere very close by. Glancing around, he saw nothing out of the ordinary but was apprehensive nonetheless. "Hello?" he called, peering at the bushes where he thought the sound had come from. Something rustled again, though not where he was looking and he reeled. Swiftly grabbing Onix's Pokeball from a pocket on his vest, Brock took a defensive stance, expecting some wild Pokemon to appear at any moment. "Ash? Misty?"  
  
/Who are you?/  
  
Brock yelped in alarm. There was a voice... only not a voice... it was in his mind, not something he heard but rather like an idea... The young breeder gulped, fear gripping him. Was he going insane?  
  
/Don't be afraid,/ the voice 'said' soothingly, allowing Brock to calm down a little.   
  
"Who - who's there?" he managed to stammer, his shadowed eyes darting.  
  
From the leaves above him, something appeared, lowering into Brock's frame of vision. It was... a Pokemon? It was rather small, no larger than Pikachu, and appeared to be feline with pointed ears and a very long tail. Its fur was a very pale sea blue and it peered at him with large, curious green eyes. The creature was hovering upside down only a few inches from his face.  
  
"Mew?" it said inquisitively, this time making a real sound.  
  
Onix's Pokeball hit the ground and bounced toward the discarded backpack and vest. Brock was frozen in shock, his jaw hanging open. A Mew!? The legendary mythical Pokemon?! Brock knew not only about the science of Pokemon but the mythology as well and he recognized the creature from reported sightings as well as the ancient cave paintings that had created such a controversy in the world of Pokemon research. And now here he was, face to face with the world's rarest Pokemon, unable to move a muscle.  
  
/Well aren't you going to try and catch me?/ the Mew demanded in his mind, its gaze turning on Onix's Pokeball which lay, still minimized, on the ground.  
  
Brock realized that he was going to have to give some kind of response -- one doesn't ignore it when the world's rarest Pokemon asks you a question. But something about the Mew left him in stunned awe. In appearance it was a cute, cuddly creature but beneath that there was power... unimaginable power and an intelligence different from other Pokemon.  
  
"No," he said, finally finding his voice. He looked at the Mew with more confidence now. "You... you're not meant to be caught." Brock didn't know where the words came from but inside he knew it was the truth.  
  
The Mew seemed surprised. It turned over in midair and moved closer to Brock, its nose almost touching his. It looked into his eyes with its pools of green. The young breeder dared not move. /Who are you?/  
  
He gulped. "My name is Brock. Leader of the Pewter City Gym."  
  
The Mew floated back a little, looking at Brock with what appeared to be skepticism. /You're unlike any trainer I've encountered,/ it stated.  
  
"What?"  
  
/You... treat Pokemon differently, think of us differently.../  
  
Unable to express itself with 'words' the Mew did what seemed sensible to it...  
  
Brock stared as everything around him became... warped. The stream's clear water seemed to spill over the back but when it reached his feet, it wasn't wet. He gasped as the green of the tree leaves above him melted down around him as though candle wax. The purple and orange sky ran into the distant horizon like paint. The ground disappeared beneath his feet as all the color around his swirled together until he was... nowhere. He tried to look around but found that he couldn't move his head. He tried to speak but no sound came, tried to scream but silence prevailed.  
  
Suddenly he felt the Mew with him. He couldn't see it or hear it but now he could see nothing and hear nothing anyway. He was disembodied, floating in oblivion.  
  
/Don't be afraid,/ he felt the Mew say again.  
  
Unable to speak, Brock didn't know how he could respond but managed to get his overwhelming panic under control. At least he knew he wasn't alone. Cautiously, he tried to *think* at the Mew, imagining its green eyes. /Where are we?/ Success! It was an alien form of communication and still wasn't actually composed of words, but of ideas, feelings and intuitions.  
  
/Your memory,/ the Mew replied.  
  
/My memory? But memory isn't a place... it's... well it's memory!/  
  
/How little you humans understand yourselves,/ the Mew said with pity.  
  
/Well why are we here?/ Brock decided it wasn't worth racking his brains over, he'd just give himself a headache. Or at least he could have, had he had a head at the time.  
  
/You are different from the others I've seen... I will show you how./ Before he could protest, the Mew continued. /You have an unusual compassion toward Pokemon... and they respond to it, they trust you.../  
  
And then Brock found himself somewhere again... Or rather SAW himself somewhere. He was with Misty and Ash and they were kneeling on the ground near a small, gray Pokemon. It was scraped and battered and made a pitiful noise.  
  
/I remember this,/ Brock thought to the Mew. /In the Safari Zone. But this took place months ago./  
  
/Of course you remember it. This is your memory. Time is meaningless here. Observe now./  
  
"I am training to be the world's greatest Pokemon breeder after all," Brock heard himself say as he watched the memory. But something was different from when the event had actually taken place. As the scene unfolded, Brock realized that he could sense what the injured baby Kangaskhan was feeling. It was terrified and suffering from its injuries.  
  
In the memory, Brock produced a potion and warned the Kangaskhan that it would sting it a little. Meanwhile disembodied Brock watched in awe, sensing the baby's thoughts. Somehow it understood him... it was afraid but it knew that Brock was going to help it and it trusted him. Brock sprayed the potion on it and it shrieked in pain. It was then that Tomo appeared, shouting at the group to leave the Kangaskhan alone. Brock scooped it up into his arms protectively. He hadn't noticed at the time but the baby clung to his shirt, burying its face in the orange fabric. It felt safer in his arms.  
  
The memory changed and now it was later in time. Brock still held the Kangaskhan, cradling it gently in his arms. Team Rocket was gone and Tomo and his parents had been reunited. It was time for Brock and his friends to say good-bye. Brock was standing in front of a very large Kangaskhan, the baby clinging to his vest with tiny paws.  
  
"Kangas kangas kangaskhan khan kangaskhan."  
  
"Momma Kangaskhan say baby Kangaskhan momma gone," Tomo translated, looking up at Brock. "She caught by trainer, taken away. Momma Kangaskhan say she take care of baby Khangaskhan like she take care of baby Tomo."  
  
Brock smiled down at the baby. "Looks like you got yourself a new momma," he said. The baby crooned and as he shifted it in preparation to hand it over, it licked his nose. The breeder looked at it in surprise but then smiled warmly, understanding. "You're welcome," he whispered as he tenderly placed it in the pouch of the adult Kangaskhan.  
  
Outside the memory, Brock's proverbial eyes were filled with proverbial tears. He could feel the gratitude coming from the baby, a wonderful, warm feeling. He could feel the adult Kangaskhan's approval and knew that he'd done right that day.  
  
The memory disappeared, leaving Brock with only his own thoughts and emotions. He could feel the Mew observing him with curiosity.   
  
/I never knew how it *felt*,/ he said, not entirely to Mew.   
  
/Even so, you've always had a certain understanding for Pokemon even very early on,/ Mew observed.  
  
Another memory appeared and Brock saw himself -- but a much younger self -- apparently about Ash's age. The young Brock was perched atop a large rock, his knees pulled to his chest and his chin resting on them. He was in the mountains and looked down at Pewter City below.  
  
Older Brock would have gasped, had he been able. He realized what this memory was.  
  
Younger Brock sighed as he gazed down at the city, his expression troubled. Today should have been a big day for him, the day he'd start his Pokemon journey. It was morning and at the house of Pewter's local Pokemon Professor, five young people were receiving their starter Pokemon and beginning the greatest adventure of their lives with dreams of becoming Pokemon Masters.  
  
Why wasn't Brock there? He was old enough. A memory within a memory, he recalled his birthday which had taken place a month earlier. The big ten-oh. Ten years old and finally old enough to get a Pokemon trainer's license. Early that morning he had left to take the test to get his license and scored extremely high, receiving his license from a very proud Nurse Cari (this was prior to the current generation of Joys) who had tutored him and encouraged him, recognizing the energetic young boy's potential.  
  
And now that license was in his pocket, unused. Brock wasn't at Professor Clark's house because he had responsibilities in Pewter. He was the oldest of eight kids at the time, in a house run by a single mom. Where was his father? His father was out on *his* quest to become a Pokemon Master.  
  
Was that fair? His father -- a full grown man, was out living his *son's* dream. Brock was ten, the time when a young person gets an opportunity to see the world, learn about Pokemon and life, but instead he was stuck in Pewter with a feeling of obligation toward his family.  
  
When father returns, he told himself. Someday his dad would return and their family would be stable again. His mom would be able to rest and he'd be able to begin his *own* life. Someday.  
  
It was terrible having dad gone. Even though Brock resented him for leaving, he still loved Flint and missed him. His mother he knew missed him much more and it troubled her a lot. Sometimes he'd overhear people talking about his family. They pitied his mother, saying that Flint had abandoned her and probably would never return. It would infuriate Brock and tear him apart to hear such things and it was all he could do to keep from shouting at them. It wasn't true! It parents loved each other and Flint would return someday as Grand Pokemon Master and show them. And then everything would be all right.  
  
But he still wished that that day had been his day to start that great journey.  
  
A terrible sound roused young Brock from his thoughts. It was very faint, a screeching sort of noise. The boy lifted his head and looked in the direction it was coming from. He'd never heard anything like it... What could it be? He jumped down from the boulder and went to investigate.  
  
Listening carefully, the boy followed the sound until he discovered where it was coming from. A cave! He lowered himself through the small entrance and found himself on a very steep incline where the ceiling was only an inch or two above his head. The screeching echoed through the cave and Brock covered his ears. He retrieved a flashlight from his backpack -- an essential when hiking in these mountains which were riddled with caves and tunnels. Turning it on, he carefully made his way down the incline. As he got lower and lower into the earth, the cave walls and floor became damp and he had to steady himself by keeping on hand on the wall so as not to slip. The flashlight beam danced on the stony cave floor as the screeching became louder and louder until the boy thought he would go deaf from the noise. Finally the tunnel opened out into a very large cavern. Between the screeches, Brock could hear water dripping from the stalactites above. Shining the light around, he found the source of the screeching.  
  
It was a Pokemon! Brock searched his memory for the name of it... Onix. The Onix was curled up on the cave floor, as though hugging itself as it screeched. Brock could see even from several yards away that the rock Pokemon was injured. Its gray surface was scraped and scuffed and it glistened with moisture -- bad news for any rock Pokemon.  
  
The Onix noticed Brock and its screeching trailed off as it slowly raised its head to look at him. The boy swallowed hard, frozen in place by the Pokémon's gaze. But he took a deep breath and ventured forward, his hand stretched out.  
  
"Hey there fella," he said, trying to make his voice as soothing as possible. "What happened to you, huh? Someone really beat you up..."  
  
The Onix watched him carefully as he approached but it made no attempt to flee or attack him. Brock examined its condition, now only a few feet from it. The moisture that covered it was mixed with some thicker greenish substance. Was it possible for a rock to bleed? There were deep scratches on its body, almost as if its "skin" had been sanded away.  
  
Brock suddenly shrugged off his jacket and tossed his backpack aside. There was a ripping sound as he tore the sleeve from the shoulder of his shirt. He slowly came closer to the Onix, very careful not to make any quick movements.  
  
"I'm not gonna hurt you," he whispered. "I just want to help... I promise..."  
  
Still the Onix was non-threatening even though Brock was right beside it. Gently, the boy touched the fabric of his torn shirt sleeve to the creature's surface and when it made only a soft sort of whimpering noise, he dropped to his knees beside it and began the task of drying off the Onix. Carefully he cleaned the greenish ichor from its wounds and wiped away the water sheen from its body.  
  
About half an hour and two shirt sleeves later, the boy sat on the floor, leaning against a stalagmite with the Onix's head resting in his lap. It was very small, Brock realized, recalling that Onix was the largest known breed of Pokemon. This one, even if it was only a baby, must have been some sort of runt for its head was only about two feet wide -- very small for a normally mighty Pokemon. The creature was completely helpless out here by itself, Brock thought as he absently stroked the sleeping Pokémon's head. Soon he would go back into town and get a potion for it and heal it completely.  
  
The boy smiled at his new friend, allowing the tattered remains of his shirt sleeve slip out of his hand. He had a feeling that he and this Onix would make a great team.  
  
Outside the memory, older Brock watched the memory fondly. Indeed he and Onix had made a great pair. They had both grown so much since then, Onix becoming a mighty and healthy Pokemon, large even for his breed, and Brock himself becoming the leader of Pewter City Gym. As the memory faded away, the Mew spoke up, startling him. The breeder had been so caught up in the nostalgia that he'd almost forgotten about his Pokemon escort.  
  
/You share similar bonds with all your Pokemon.../  
  
The memories came quickly now, only flashing for a few seconds at a time. Zubat perched on his shoulder, taking food from his hand recently after it had been caught outside Mt. Moon. Vulpix crooning happily and rubbing its head against his chest as he brushed its healthy coat. Geodude recovering after a battle while he knelt beside it, spraying it with a potion.  
  
/But what makes our bond any different from the bond between any other Pokemon and its trainer?/ Brock asked, feeling a bit confused. Of course he knew the relationship between him and his Pokemon was a special thing and it valued it greatly but he had never thought it any different from any other trainer's.  
  
/Your Pokemon put more faith in you than most,/ the Mew explained. /They realize how important they, and all Pokemon are to you and they love you all the more for it./  
  
Again a montage of images played for him. First himself holding Damien by the collar of his shirt, enraged as he shouted at the incompetent trainer. Then pacing in the waiting room of the Pokemon center, waiting for any news about Charmander's condition. Laying in his sleeping bag, looking fondly at Togepi's egg which was on his pillow, partially covered by the fabric.  
  
/But I can't understand exactly why you are different,/ the Mew contemplated. /You have the same sort of memories as other humans, feel the same feelings... You experience the same joy.../  
  
Another quick play of memories flashed before Brock, going so quickly that it seemed at first he wouldn't be able to recognize them but somehow he was able to recall every detail as though it had played at normal speed. They started when he was a very young boy, a memory of him running into his father's arms when Flint had come home at the end of one day. Getting the proud approval of his mother when he brought home a good report card. Receiving his Pokemon trainer's license. Winning young Onix's first trainer battle. Surveying his new gym shortly after rising to gym leader status. Receiving Vulpix from Suzie.  
  
The young man felt he would burst with elation as years' worth of joy and happiness surged through him.  
  
/As well as the same anguish.../  
  
The mood of the memories changed drastically, starting out when he was a young child again. He looked down at the floor in chagrin as his mother scolded him for breaking a lamp. Walking home sadly after being taunted at school about something as stupid as the shape of his eyes. Watching his father disappear from view when he left for his journey to the Pokemon League.  
  
The next memory was something far too terrible to pass quickly and Brock was horrified when he realized what it was.   
  
The room was dim and quiet as a slightly younger Brock entered. The silence was permeated only by the rhythmic bleeping of some machines. The shades of the small window were open but little light was provided by the drizzly conditions outside. Part of the room was curtained off and it was to this curtain that Brock quietly went after depositing his umbrella beside the door.  
"Mom?" he called softly as he approached the curtain. "Are you awake?"  
  
"I'm awake. Come in sweetie," a voice responded and Brock drew the curtain aside.  
  
In the hospital bed lay his mother, her normally dark skin pale and sallow, her normally brilliant brown eyes dull. Brock retrieved a chair and brought it over beside the bed, cautious of the mess of wires and IV tubes that were there. His mother smiled faintly as he sat down beside her bed and took her frail hand between his own.   
  
"How are you feeling today?" the young man asked quietly. His voice echoed slightly in the hollow, sterile environment.  
  
"Mmm... I've felt better." She smiled very faintly. "How are things at home?"  
  
"Getting better," Brock replied. "Suzie's still upset that she can't come see you. I tried to explain to her why young children aren't allowed in this wing of the hospital but I don't think she really understands." He gave a smile sigh but then brightened a little. "I brought you letters from everybody." He reached into his vest and produced a neatly folded wad of papers which he offered to his mother.  
  
She took them, smiling as she sifted through the stack of crude crayon drawings and notes from her children. Closing her eyes briefly, she set them aside with frail, trembling fingers to read later. "Has there been any word from Flint?" she asked, looking to her son with hopeful eyes.  
  
Brock's face darkened. "No." He sighed a little again. "I don't know why you think he's going to get in touch with us now, mother. We haven't heard from him in five years. He doesn't care about us any more."  
  
"Don't talk about your father that way," his mother said sharply. "Your father loves you, Brock and he loves every one of you kids. He'll come back someday. Don't loose faith."  
  
The young man bit back a comment, forcing himself to stay composed for his mother's sake. The last thing she needed right now was to get agitated. "Sorry," he said quietly.  
  
"Come here." Brock scooted his chair closer to the bed and she leaned over to kiss his forehead. "Do you remember when Flint was around when you were younger?" He nodded. "Do you remember him not caring about you?"  
  
The gym leader paused, thinking back to happier days when his mother was healthy and his father had not yet left for the Pokemon League. Days when their family was whole and supportive of each other. He shook his head in response to his mother's question.  
  
"Flint loves each and every one of you children, Brock. He won't be able to go through life without seeing you. He'll be back..."  
  
Brock watched with concern as she laid her head back, closing her eyes as he breathing became labored.  
  
"I believe you, Mom," he said, taking her hand again. "I remember how it used to be... Mom?" The young man looked on in alarm as her breath became raspy. "Are you all right?" He looked sharply at the machines at her bedside when their rhythmic beeping became erratic before he jumped to his feet, nearly toppling his chair and ran to the door. "NURSE!"  
  
A woman came hurrying down the hall and entered to room, going to his mother's side to examine the readout from the machines. Moments later she'd been joined by several other nurses and a doctor.  
  
"Her blood pressure's dropping," Brock heard someone say as he looked on from the back of the room.  
  
The room became a flurry of commotion, of moving IV tubes, medical instruments, terms he didn't understand being called between the staff. Above this was audible the erratic, unnerving cries of cold, unfeeling machines. Brock's eyes were glued to his mother's pale, feeble form as she lay seemingly oblivious to the medical personnel rushing about her.  
  
The beeping was growing louder and faster, rising in pitch.  
  
"Her pulse rate is reaching critical!"  
  
The moments that followed seemed to drag on for an eternity, the maddening blip growing faster and faster as the medical staff made a last desperate attempt to pull the woman from death's clutches. Finally the blip became a shrill tone. It was over.  
  
"She's gone," the doctor murmured sadly but when he turned to face the woman's son, he was no longer there.  
  
The hospital doors were flung open and Brock ran out into the rain which had since gone from a drizzle to a downpour. Heedless to the drops soaking him and the deafening thunder clapping above, he ran down the street, tears lost in the falling rain.  
  
Finally the horrible memory was over and the rapid succession of pain continued. A beautiful girl and another and another. Rejection after rejection. Annoyed looks, patronizing comments about his age, a stinging slap across his face.  
  
/STOP THIS!/  
  
The breeder found himself back in the forest, looking down at the grassy stream shore. On his knees on the ground, he looked around franticly, patting down his arms as though making sure he was all there. Getting his bearings, the young man spotted Mew's glittering green eyes watching him from the bushes, aglow in the failing twighlight.  
  
/Are you all right?/ the creature asked with mild concern.  
  
Brock pulled himself to his feet, trying to catch his breath after the overwhelming experience. "Yeah," he finally replied.  
  
Mew emerged from the foliage to hover near the breeder, watching him inquisitively. /I apologize. I forgot how fragile the human mind is./ Mew paused, looking downstream and tilting its head slightly. /I must go now./  
  
"Wait!" Brock cried, raising a hand after the Pokemon as it began to float higher, moving toward the branches above them. "Is that all? Don't you have anything else to tell me?"  
  
The creature paused in its ascent to look over its shoulder at him. /Don't give up on your dream. You'll make an excellent Pokemon breeder. You have an understanding for us that few humans possess./  
  
A smile crept across the young man's face. "Thank you."  
  
Mew's unearthly green eyes smiled softly in return and it disappeared into the leaves.  
  
"Brock! Hey Brock! Where are you?"  
  
He tore his gaze away from the canopy to call back, "Over here, Ash."  
  
His young traveling partner suddenly spilled out of the bushes and Brock quickly stepped forward to catch his arm before the boy hit the ground. "Here you are! Misty and I didn't know where you went. I think the soup is done."  
  
"Sorry about that, Ash," Brock apologized with distraction, glancing up at the canopy again for a moment before returning his gaze to his young friend. "I'll be there in a minute, all right?"  
  
Ash nodded and went back in the direction he'd come, disappearing into the forest growth. Brock picked up his backpack and vest and retrieved Onix's Pokeball. The young man paused, glancing around the clearing one last time in thought.  
  
Mew... The rarest Pokemon on Earth... Perhaps with good reason. Mew possessed powers beyond the imagination of mortals. He'd sensed the creature's strength from the very beginning, a strength that if put in the hands of the wrong person could be disastrous. Perhaps the Mew had to hide from humans to protect man from man, Mew from man and man from Mew.  
  
"Your secret's safe with me," Brock murmured with a small smile before turning to walk back to the camp.  
  
/Breeder./  
  
He hesitated again, looking around the clearing. The creature was nowhere to be seen but he could head its voice in his mind.  
  
/One more thing. Don't worry yourself so much about females. There's one out there for you if you're patient./  
  
Brock took in a sharp breath when the image of a pair of lovely, feminine eyes flashed in his vision. A broad grin spread across his face and he called out, "Thank you, Mew! Thank you very much..."   
  
With that, the young man began his walk back to the camp in high spirits with a new sense of hope for the future.  



End file.
